What a pants weekend.

Saturday was spent raking through the past life of Chris's parents again.

We always feel emotional and a little upset when we're there at the moment. I'm not sure if it's because her mum doesn't seem to be (on the outside - there is stuff inside) or because we are being forced to go through the collected litter of 2 lives trying to decide what to keep and what to chuck. Last time we found stuff dating back to the 50's - useless stuff, like failed exam results. This time Chris came across her driving test failure certificate (she passed 2nd go).

Every surface still seems covered in papers, even after it's been cleared the week before.

Sally and Sue very kindly lent us one of the Picnix vans, Dan came over as well, and we loaded some furniture up to take to a place that recycles it for those on minimal incomes. Chris's mum wants to keep all the significant stuff, but there is no way it'll fit in that flat.

It was odd after we'd left, we were just so tired, and it felt like it must be much later even though it was only 4.30ish. Dropped into Tesco Northampton and bought something for dinner, which we ate at 5.45! Normally dinner is around 7.00, but it just felt so late.

Yesterday morning we went to the Oxford celebration where the focus was very much on how we need to change our shape to fit the new wine God's bringing. I won't talk about most of the content, but there is one thing that came out that I'm learning to hate. The phrase *The Lost*. The lost are an amorphous and unreal bunch of waif-like creatures that hover at the very edges of our vision and have no meaning, solidity or reality. The lost aren't 'real people' with loves and lives and ambitions and desires, that we might be friends with. I almost want to ask why they haven't been found yet. I know there are reasonable grounds for using this expression, but like 'evangelism' it's another phrase that doesn't belong in our thinking.

BTW rant not over yet. Don't sigh with relief.

For Christmas I asked for, and gratefully recieved 'a Generous Orthodoxy' by Brian McClaren. This weekend I tried to start reading it, and oh, what a bowlful of flavourless papp the first chapter is turning into. It's full of 'there are many things about which I'm sure I'm right, yet I'm probably wrong, and you may not agree with me and might be right instead, and it doesn't really matter what your background is because that's all OK too, and GK Chesterton weighed 300lb and was even more overweight that I am AND was a much better writer than me.

AARRRGGGHHHHH!

I can see where he's coming from and what he's trying to do, but after a bit it becomes too much. I will persevere as much as I can bear, because I think he HAS caught hold of the sort of thing that we've seen God doing in Bicester (with the churches working together) but in a way that lacks (for me) bite and strength. This may be a great injustice, but I can't imagine people dying for their faith on the basis of this kind of stuff. Missional? But to bring people into what kind of church? So they can disappear into a blend of pop-songs of the last 20 centuries and we can do religious practice as men have created and handed it down but to a background of power-point, bangin' choons and light shows?

Sorry - my feelings about 'alternative worship' coming out there.

Maybe things will improve later.

Now the rant's over. It's safe to breath again.

Oh, just one more thing. Ben went to Bury St Edmunds on Saturday evening after work. He came back yesterday with a bent car. :-( He's 18 on Tuesday (tomorrow) but it's not looking like a great deal of fun so far. We had other plans, but his birthday present will probably be repairing the car now.

Thanks for staying with me.